The Standoff
by 90TheGeneral09
Summary: NCIS: S13E01 "Stop The Bleeding". The story of the North Korean Sinpo-class submarine that was the subject of so much interest in "Stop The Bleeding", and its commander.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

* * *

 **A/N: I realized partway through writing this that there was no way this entire episode goes down on the date it aired- 9-22-2015. Gibbs was messed up pretty bad at the start of the episode, fights for his life for much of it, and shows up, recovered enough that he's on his feet again, right towards the end. No way could even Gibbs have managed that in 24 hours. But I didn't want to get into some complicated mess of trying to figure out when the hell Gibbs would have gotten out of the hospital, so instead, I just focused exclusively on the big showdown I imagine happened at sea and just left it at that.**

 **On a side note before we begin, in the U.S. Navy, "Fleet Admiral" is a five-star rank that was used only in World War II. In the Korean People's Navy, the navy of North Korea, "Fleet Admiral" is a four-star rank, and I depict it that way in this story. And you will notice how the protagonist does not refer to or think of himself as North Korean; he regards himself as Korean. Both Koreas claim sovereignty over the entire Korean peninsula and each insists it is the only legitimate representative of the Korean nation and people. Thus the CO of a NK submarine would definitely not call himself a "North" Korean, nor would he regard South Korea as a legitimately-governed nation. This is the kind of story I'll get inspiration for from an NCIS episode every so often. At the mention of this Sinpo-class submarine, and a situation transpiring where the DPRK- for once- was falsely accused of saber-rattling, I started wondering what it must have been like for the crew of that boat. I started writing and that's how we got** _ **The Standoff**_ **.**

* * *

The KPS (Korean People's Ship) _Sinpo_ was a magnificent vessel. Built in the Sinpo South Shipyard and launched on July 22nd, 2015, the boat had a displacement of 2,300 tons and was fitted with the most advanced diesel-electric propulsion systems designed in the Democratic People's Republic of Korea to date. She could do 18 knots on the surface or 12 submerged, had four torpedo tubes in the bow and two in the stern, and could carry a loadout of twenty torpedoes in total. Capable of traveling 1,600 miles with what her diesel tanks could hold, the _Sinpo_ carried a complement of 50 officers and men. And while she could run quieter and dive deeper than any other boat yet commissioned by the Korean People's Navy, the _Sinpo_ was a point of pride for her nation for one very specific reason, one that outweighed all the others. Inside the sail (mistakenly called the conning tower by some) was room for two submarine-launched ballistic missiles. And though the _Sinpo_ herself was not nuclear-powered, the SLBMs were each armed with nuclear warheads. The ability to put nuclear missiles on a submarine was something the KPN had lacked until now. It was something that other nations- the Russians, the Chinese, the Americans, British and French- had kept to themselves for too long.

Now, though, the DPRK could deal death to entire cities from beneath the waves.

 _Sinpo_ was the first of her class, number one in a planned series of six submarines. The East Sea Fleet had gotten the first one, and it went without saying that the senior officers of that fleet were immensely proud of it. Due to the imperialist aggressors having secured dominance over half of Korea for some sixty years now, the East Sea Fleet and West Sea Fleet operated separately and ships and boats from one fleet had never visited the other. _Sinpo_ would likely not be seeing Korea's western coast anytime soon. One day- one glorious day- the Korean People's Navy would guard the shores and territorial waters of all Korea. But that would be later; not now.

For now, having built their first boat capable of carrying submarine-launched ballistic missiles, the DPRK could rest on its laurels for a time. The senior officers of the Navy knew that the West was spying on them, had been watching from satellites as the _Sinpo_ was launched this summer. "Let them watch," some said. "Let them know the fatherland has this weapon now." The Glorious Leader didn't disagree. The fear that this new weapon struck into the hearts of the Japanese, the Koreans to the south who had been brainwashed for generations into alliance with the Americans, and the Americans themselves- that was worth having the existence of this new boat known. And besides, merely knowing of the boat's existence only did the enemy so much good. They did not know what _Sinpo_ could really do, what she was capable of in a fight. They could guess all they liked, but it wouldn't help. The Korean People's Navy was not in the business of guessing; they knew, and if there was anything they didn't know, they found out. Simple as that.

The _Sinpo_ was notable not just for the capabilities of the boat herself, impressive as they were, but for the skill, determination, and loyalty of the men selected to crew her. They were all veterans of the submarine service, the best that the Korean People's Navy had to offer. They were men whose skill was unequaled, whose determination to do fulfill their duty had no limit, men whose loyalty to the nation had never been questioned. The officers and enlisted alike were the best that could be found in the Navy in every way. Best of all of them was her captain.

 **XX**

Chungjwa Dae Kim, or "Commander" Dae Kim as an American would have called him, stood in the center of the control room of the Sinpo, standing perfectly straight at his full height of five feet, nine inches. Two stars boarded by gold stripes at his collar showed his rank, sewn onto the blue-gray coveralls he wore aboard the submarine. He was silent, but his eyes moved around the small, tightly-packed room constantly.

A group of officers and enlisted men worked at various stations, observing monitors and making observations or issuing commands every so often. Dae Kim stayed out of it; he let the officers beneath him do their work, managing specific aspects of running the boat. He would step in if something more serious occurred, but for now, the _Sinpo_ was running on the surface with nothing threatening her and no enemies to engage. She was on a cruise of the Eastern Sea, running on the surface at the edge of the Democratic People's Republic of Korea's maritime border, with three _Koni_ -class frigates accompanying her. The submarine could have run silent and undetected beneath the waves, but this was partly a propaganda tour; video camera and photography crews were aboard each of the frigates, and were part of an effort to make a production boasting to the Korean people of the fatherland's newest and most glorious naval asset.

Kim was grateful he had the frigates escorting his ship; though there was some rivalry between the surface and submarine fleets, ultimately, they were on the same side, shielding the one true Korea against American aggression, as well as that of their lackeys in Seoul and Tokyo. He had orders to remain on the surface throughout this sea tour, four days into a total of fourteen. The _Sinpo_ had completed her initial sea trials but was still very much a new boat, and perhaps the higher-ups wanted more evidence that she was everything she was supposed to be. Maybe they were also testing the admiral's son some more.

Dae Kim was a fit, lean, and exceptionally bright young officer; he was the youngest captain of a submarine in Korean People's Navy history, having achieved both the rank of full Commander and command of his first boat at only twenty-six years old. He looked half a decade younger, however, and had been mistaken for a secondary school or post-secondary student while out of uniform on shore leave. Passionate about physical and mental fitness, Kim read philosophy and history often, sometimes getting through a detailed read of a whole book in one day, while also finding the time to keep himself able to run a six-minute mile and do one hundred pushups at the drop of a hat. He was ambitious, masterful of mathematics and naval tactics and strategy almost to the point of genius- and others had said that, not him. Kim was also the son of the distinguished four-star Commander-in-Chief of the Navy, Taejang (Fleet Admiral) Dae Yong-ju, and everybody knew it. He had lived in his father's shadow his whole career.

 **XX**

It had not been easy for his father to rise to four-star rank and command of the whole Navy. Kim was deeply ashamed that his mother had left for China ten years ago, an unexplainable act that was even more incomprehensible when rumors arose she had been seen beneath the Demilitarized Zone in the American-occupied Republic of Korea. Such an act by a close relative was not just scandalous; it was considered treason. An officer less brilliant and dedicated than Dae Yong-ju would have lost his life in addition to his career. Kim could not quite explain how his father, the son of a coal miner, had managed to get admitted to the prestigious Kim Il-Sung Military University, graduating at the top of his class, and salvage and continue his career even after his wife abandoned her country and her family. He had no idea how his father had recovered from the shame and humiliation enough to even fight for his job and status at all, let alone save it and keep his remaining family from any harm.

All Kim could think of was that his father's total dedication to the Navy, to the country, and to the Glorious Leader must have been known and understood by someone. A person or persons of great importance must have realized what a priceless asset the brilliant and heroic Dae Yong-ju was, and what a mistake it would be to cast him aside because of the treasonous actions of his wife- which were as much as surprise and embarrassment to him as they were to anyone.

For as long as he could remember, Dae Kim had labored under the weight of his father's name and his mother's shame. He was the son of a legendary yet controversial admiral, one whose name was known and revered all over the Navy despite the scandal that had almost cost him everything. When you were the son of such a famed career naval officer and you chose to follow him into his profession… then what did you do? It was not easy being the son of such a man. Kim might have grown up under privileged circumstances- Dae Yong-ju wanted his only child having only the best of chances waiting for him in life- but he had also grown up feeling the weight of his father's rank and achievements on his shoulders. Kim had known for as long as he could recall that he wanted to be a tough but caring, brilliant and heroic naval officer just like his father. But looking up at the tower of achievement and military genius that his father had built, a tower that rose in Kim's mind until you could no longer see it in the clouds… it was easy to despair, and say, "I could never do that."

Kim had pushed himself relentlessly for practically all his life, determined to make his father and country proud. He would bury the shame of his mother's treason so deep that no one would dare bring her up again to question his father's patriotism, or his own. Kim felt greatly indebted to his father, who had shown him only the greatest of love and compassion whenever he was home from the sea. Dae Yong-ju was a tough naval officer who did not tolerate excuses or weakness, but he cared. He cared too much, if anything, because the few times Kim had been injured or seriously ill growing up, Dae Yong-ju was practically beside himself with worry. He always obtained proper leave before seeing to his son- duty to the nation came first- but as soon as he was permitted, Dae Yong-ju had been at his son's side every time he was needed as Kim grew up.

There was a close, strong bond between the two men, and knowing how much he meant to his father, always had and always would, drove Kim even harder to be the best he could possibly be.

Kim had shown it when he secured permission- despite his mother's actions- to study abroad. Upon graduating from secondary school a year early in 2006, Kim attended the Fishburne Military School in Waynesboro, Virginia under an assumed name. By then he could already read, write, and speak English adequately, but after a year at the private military boarding school, posing impeccably as a South Korean "military brat", Kim's English was excellent. He had set himself to the task of learning the language with the same tireless dedication that he went about doing anything else, and had been the highest-ranked of the postgraduate cadets academically and militarily. In the fall of 2007, Kim had arrived at the Virginia Military Institute in Lexington, Virginia, not more than an hour's drive from Waynesboro. It was a hard college to spend four years at as an undergraduate, but it was also very famous, seen as one of the all-out best military colleges in the world. Students had come to this school from China, Iran, Germany, France- VMI was very much respected for its achievements. Even if the United States were still the enemy beyond a shadow of a doubt, VMI was respectable. Nowhere else, in Kim's mind, was better to learn the disciplinary system, history, ethics and philosophy of the enemy.

In that little mountain town, Kim had studied, exercised, drilled and drilled, and performed brilliantly in the U.S. Navy's Reserve Officer Training Corps. It never ceased to amuse Kim during that time how completely his classmates and instructors, as they had at Fishburne, believed he really was South Korean. He even had the other South Korean cadets fooled; they thought Kim was merely the son of a career petty officer, hence the reason why none of them had heard of him or his father. Kim had a perfectly-researched, appropriately vague South Korean dossier that was backed up by what his country's government had graciously put in the file sent with him to America.

The disguised son of a heroic Korean naval officer shamed his peers time and again, American and non-American alike. The instructors praised Kim's polite, respectful manner and his brilliance in the classroom. Cadets sought his advice. In the greatest of all ironies, many of those cadets were Americans. And for what it was worth, Kim never turned anyone away. He didn't tell all of this to his father or to the government, but he never rejected someone coming to him for help or advice, or an instructor requesting him to do a small lecture in one of their classes to a group of younger cadets. Kim even made friends with some of the Americans he attended the Institute with, even as he secretly enjoyed beating them all at their own game, in their own college, in their own country. Dae Kim was renowned for how little he boasted- it annoyed him how often Americans did it. They seemed to think that if you weren't thumping your chest and yelling about it, people would never know.

Kim believed differently. He merely gave everything his all, getting up every day and living as if he would not see tomorrow. He treated every minute, every hour, as a precious resource, and never wasted anything. Kim became well-known at VMI for how much he achieved yet how little he said about it. He was modest, they said. Too modest, if anything. They were idiots. Bragging was for 'morons', to use an interesting American word.

His teammates on the VMI soccer team had loved Kim for his quiet, unassuming, yet fiercely dedicated playing style; he showed up early for every practice and played every game like it was a life-or-death battle. Rising to the supreme rank in the Corps of Cadets his first classman (senior) year, Dae Kim was appointed First Captain and Regimental Commander, and after a glorious final year of absolutely tireless work and shining achievement, he graduated valedictorian in the Virginia Military Institute Class of 2011. To the shock and disappointment of classmates and instructors alike, Dae Kim did not take an officer's commission in the United States Navy or the Republic of Korea Navy, though both beckoned, asking him to do so. Though it astounded all who knew him at the Institute and left them crestfallen, Kim thanked his friends and teachers, made a superb speech at commencement, took his diploma and many honors… and simply disappeared. He took the enormous gold ring the Institute gave him off as he left VMI in a car sent through a series of contacts by his father, and was never heard from again.

Not by the Americans, anyway- or any of their stooges or cronies.

The Democratic People's Republic of Korea, on the other hand, _had_ heard from Dae Kim. He reported in at the Kim Il-Sung Military University two years later with a graduate degree in military history, once again as the top of his graduating class. During that time he had served in the Navy reserves, and while attached to a surface patrol boat unit had managed to get admitted to and graduate from the basic officer's submarine school. Though some of it was surely owed to his father's influence and connections, Dae Kim had been promoted quickly through the ranks and risen to his first command after a remarkably short time- the youngest commander of a submarine in Navy history.

It was all supposed to have been impossible. All of it. None of Dae Kim's career should have even existed. It was too hard, too unlikely; the odds were all against it. Yet he'd done it anyway. Dae Kim had barely known a spare minute since he had begun secondary school- even leisure time and recreation had to be planned- but it was all worth it. The fact that he was the commander of the _Sinpo_ was proof.

 **XX**

Kim reached up and ran a hand through his stubby, brush-cut black hair; he kept it shorter than was even required by military regulations since he had turned thirteen years old. Some people- very stupid American people- would have said, between his total dedication to military service and his fierce belief of death-before-dishonor, was like a modern samurai. Fucking Japanese scum. Kim was no pig from the overrated, has-been nation that was Japan. He was Korean, and proud of that name. How the Americans, with their vast and stupefying ignorance, had managed to create a military that stood astride the world like a colossus, Dae Kim had no idea. VMI, and the intelligence and professionalism Kim had seen there among cadets and staff alike, was one of the only signs Kim had seen that there was intelligence and discipline among them. It made no sense, though; American military personnel, and cadets training to be such, had discipline. They were smart and dedicated- though fools, idiots, and braggarts certainly existed among them. But overall, they were indeed worthy foes.

But the American civilians? From what Kim had seen, in stark and shocking contrast to the cadets and staff he had known at VMI, the average American civilian was useless. An overprivileged whiner, a loser, a maker of excuses. An addict to electronic toys and gadgets, totally lacking in real intelligence or dedication to anything meaningful. Far too many Americans questioned the wisdom of their country's leadership, showed no interest in living, serving and dying for their country, and seemed content to be lazy, ill-mannered, and foul in language and in spirit. They held bigoted views without reason and thought selfishly without hesitation.

Kim may have made friends with some of them, may have even come to respect a few of them, and the respect he had earned from so many of his fellow cadets and his instructors was certainly returned in most cases. But Kim left Fishburne, and left the Institute, with his overall view of Americans unchanged. They were the enemy, they were too often fools and idiots, and for all their might as a nation, with such sloppiness and weakness as Kim saw time and again openly allowed and tolerated, they were living on borrowed time.

 **XX**

The commander of the _Sinpo_ was interrupted and kept from further musings about his career thus far and his opinion of Americans when the officer of the deck spoke to him. His executive officer, Sojwa (Lieutenant Commander) Li Choi, was actually in command of the boat at the moment as he was actively in charge of the control room. Though the commanding officer was present, he was not holding the deck- he was merely there, rather than truly in charge. But he was most responsible for the decisions made on the Sinpo, and thus Li reported to Kim now.

"Sir, we are getting a surface contact. The surface ships are getting it too; they believe it is a heavy cruiser."

"American?"

"Yes, sir. She's accompanied by multiple surface contacts, likely destroyers. We should have visual contact any time."

Up on the submarine's sail- what was incorrectly called the conning tower by some- lookouts watched with binoculars at any time the sub was on the surface. They called below if they saw anything, and those calls were related to the control room. But neither Li Choi nor Dae Kim needed to leave the control room to see what was on the surface. Neither did they lower a telescopic eyepiece, flip a handle out to either side, and stare through the eyepiece- the submarine's scopes didn't penetrate the inner hull. But the Americans, with their movies- they had other ideas. Kim suppressed a smile; logic and actual facts had nothing on Hollywood.

"Sir," a sailor called from down a narrow passageway, "lookouts report an American warship, Ticonderoga-class cruiser! She's headed our way!"

That changed the mood in the control room abruptly. Discipline ruled supreme on every Korean boat and ship, but the slight change in the atmosphere, the way every man stiffened and straightened where he stood or sat, showed that things had gotten more serious.

"Call the crew to general quarters, Commander," Kim said calmly. The order was repeated by Li Choi, and hooting alarms and bellowing petty officers sent every one of _Sinpo_ 's sailors racing to their stations. Some stood by to act as damage controlmen; every man on the boat was trained in the art of fighting fires, plugging leaks, and solving even the worst electrical problems, but when the crew was prepared for battle, some had that as their primary job.

Kim's was to make sure those men had as little to do as possible. Without a word being said, the deck passed to him, and the young captain assumed direct control of his boat. His executive officer stood close by, prepared to do whatever he could.

A set of computer monitors were at the stations ringing the control room. Cameras in the boat's attack and search scopes showed the sights available from the surface on two different monitors, while sonar scans were shown on two more. The boat's weapons officer oversaw crewmen at another two stations, and directly took charge of the loading and firing of the _Sinpo_ 's torpedoes. Only Kim, however, with authorization from the highest of powers, had the right to order either of the two SLBMs armed and fired.

The boat's captain and executive officer both eyed the monitors relaying the images from the periscopes with great interest; it was a sunny day, clear skies, perfect tourist weather. And sure enough, an American guided missile cruiser was making pretty good speed as it headed their way. Kim knew the long, knife-like bow, knew the distinctive "blocky" look to the foremost and aft-most features of her superstructure. The cameras were even able to show the white two-digit number painted on either side of her hull close to the bow: 74. She was the USS _Cortland_ , CG-74, a Ticonderoga-class cruiser. With her were several other warships, _Arleigh-Burke_ -class destroyers. All of them had been near the horizon some time ago when they were first noticed as surface contacts, but since then they had come about and were indeed headed towards the border of the DPRK's territorial waters.

"Lieutenant," Kim said in that same calm voice he'd used before, "load torpedo tubes One through Six. Flood the tubes and open the caps."

The command was echoed by Lieutenant Senior Grade Chin Kang, the _Sinpo_ 's weapons officer, and even though he could not see or hear it, Dae Kim knew that in the cramped, incredibly tight confines of Sinpo's bow and stern torpedo rooms, orders were being repeated and the long, heavy, deadly "fish" were being lifted from their storage racks and loaded into the tubes. The weapons officer ordered the weapons control crewmen to signal the torpedo tubes to flood and their caps to open; in only seconds the _Sinpo_ had readied herself to fire.

What hadn't happened was the _Sinpo_ actually coming about and aiming her bow tubes at the enemy. There wasn't any real point, not yet, with the enemy still out of torpedo range and no guidance lock obtained for the homing systems in the torpedoes. But officially, this was still a routine cruise, and Kim had strict orders to keep the boat on the surface unless absolutely necessary.

Just as he was thinking he should call and ask for permission to dive, Kim heard a signal on what the Americans called a "gertrude", an underwater telephone that allowed a submarine to communicate long-range with other ships or specific individuals on the surface.

Kim went to answer it himself; he had a feeling, somehow, that these this was related to what was going on. He had heard of the recent sabotage at Pyongyang International Airport, and had been told to keep his crew at a high state of readiness, in the last call from his superiors. He picked up the device and spoke into it, identifying himself as the Sinpo's commanding officer.

"Commander Dae Kim," a stern, deep, familiar voice said, "this is Fleet Admiral Dae Yong-ju. You and your men are at the forefront of the current tensions now. I am instructed to inform you that the Americans believe your boat has armed the warheads in its missiles. They are moving a group of warships they have in the Eastern Sea to close range and be ready to engage you. So I must ask you once: Have you ordered the warheads on your boat armed?"

"No, sir," Kim answered at once, speaking to his father as if completely unrelated to him at all. "I have issued no such order to my crew." It went without saying that he would not have done so- would not have dared- without direct order from higher command.

"I know that, and so does the Glorious Leader," the admiral answered. "But the Americans do not. The fatherland's diplomats are attempting to explain the facts to them. The Americans hear, but they do not listen. They believe we are preparing for a nuclear attack against them or their lackeys."

"Upon being ordered, I will gladly do so for my leader and fatherland," Kim replied. His contempt for Americans increased; the warmongers were actually accusing not just his nation and his Navy, but him personally, of preparing a nuclear strike? "If they attack unprovoked my boat and our surface escort will defend ourselves with conventional weapons, unless a nuclear launch is authorized."

"Do not arm your missiles. Do not ready them for launch." The fleet admiral spoke in flat, simple declarations, leaving no doubt as to what was desired. These were as clear as orders could be. "Do not fire torpedoes unless the Americans engage first, or if they cross beyond any doubt into Korean waters. Remain on the surface unless attacked. These orders come directly from the Glorious Leader, and they are being passed to the frigates accompanying you."

At the mention of the nation's leader, and the fact that these orders came from him personally, Kim's sense of commitment increased a thousand fold. He was honored beyond words to speak to his father in the line of duty, but to be carrying out orders from the Leader himself…

"Live or die, the will of the Glorious Leader be done," Kim said.

Fleet Admiral Dae Yong-ju echoed the sentiment, and then hung up the phone. His tone had hinted at times in the brief conversation that he longed to say something more, to set aside his duty and say some personal encouragement to his son. But duty ruled his life as sternly as it did Kim's, and there was no opportunity for such a thing. Even when Kim had taken the _Sinpo_ out for this sea tour and his father had appeared in full dress uniform for the ceremony, he spoke professionally, and when shaking hands with his son, simply barked, "Good hunting, Commander Dae Kim. Make us proud."

It was in the older man's eyes, in his voice, how emotional and proud he was underneath the surface. Kim could tell this time, too, that his father was deeply concerned. The tensions had him proud that his son was at the frontlines of a dangerous situation, but also worried. If a war started here in the Eastern Sea, the Korean People's Army would thunder across the Demilitarized Zone and the Korean People's Air Force would rain death on the imperialist aggressors from the skies, while the Korean People's Navy would sweep in like a mighty wave from the seas, obliterating all in their path along the shores and ports of occupied Korea.

But before any of that could happen, the battle that would be fought here in the Eastern Sea would be won or lost first. If _Sinpo_ was sunk in the fighting, unlikely as that was… Dae Yong-ju would have first ordered his son into harm's way and then ordered him to stay there even in the face of approaching death. Dae Kim's life was meaningless when set against duty, fatherland, and honor, but that wouldn't mean that Dae Yong-ju might never forgive himself if his son died in battle. He would be proud, but deeply grieved.

Kim did not mean to give any fathers reason to grieve except American ones. If they fired on his vessel, or on any of the ships alongside his, Kim would bring the _Sinpo_ about and fight to the bitter end. They would not take him without a fight.

Turning to his control room crew, Kim repeated the orders he'd been given, then stressed, "We will not engage first. No move will be made to arm our missiles or warheads unless we receive an order to do so. But if they attack us, we destroy them."

After that, the submarine was silent except for the occasional giving or acknowledgement of orders, or the relaying of status reports about the situation. Kim stayed quiet himself, eying the monitors that showed the images from his scopes. The American warships had turned to show their port sides to the Korean vessels, and stayed two miles off. They were within torpedo range, but just barely. The two groups of ships sailed in the same northeasterly course, gun turrets and missile launchers aimed at each other, but for now, not a single shot was being fired.

The young naval officer's heart raced; adrenaline coursed through him as his body readied itself for battle. He had never imagined command of his first vessel would involve an international incident like this. But you never expected these things. They merely happened. How you handled them when you did was what separated the men from the little boys, the strong from the weak, and the duty-minded from those who had neither honor nor purpose. Kim knew which side of those things he stood on.

 **XX**

Another signal on the underwater telephone came after ten minutes, just as the lookouts reported Morse code signals being flashed at Sinpo from _USS Cortland_ , clearly the ship in charge of the group that Sinpo and her three escort frigates were facing.

Once again, Kim had a hunch what it would be, and once again, he was right. He was being hailed by the Americans themselves, and somehow, they had sent a signal to the underwater telephone aboard Kim's boat.

Even so, Kim knew he could be wrong. He answered in Korean, stating that he was commanding officer of the Sinpo, as he'd said before.

"Commanding officer of North Korean submarine _Sinpo_ ," a gruff, stern voice said in American-accented Korean, "this is commanding officer, USS _Cortland_ -"

"You can speak English, Commander," Kim said, allowing a trace of smug amusement into his voice. "I understand." He spoke in perfect English, not a trace of accent present at all.

"Good," the man answered, also in English, sounding almost relieved not to have to speak Korean anymore. "Arming your boat's nuclear warheads is not a good idea, Commander. You should reconsider. Neither of us would want your nation's newest vessel destroyed in a retaliatory attack."

"No warheads have been armed, Commander," Kim returned flatly.

"Our monitoring systems say otherwise. This is not a _game_ , Commander. Our systems _say_ you _have_ armed your boat's missile warheads."

"Then the fault must lie with your American-made computers," Kim replied, "for I have armed no warheads. Keep your distance and stay outside waters belonging to the Democratic People's Republic of Korea, or you will invite a response of deadly force."

"You are badly outnumbered, _Sinpo_. If there's a fight here, you will _not_ win it."

"If there is a fight here," Kim said, "it will be because _you_ started it. The Korean People's Navy will defend our nation against American aggression if you attempt it. Americans champion themselves as the defenders of the world's free peoples. Surely you wouldn't want such a stain as attacking here today would put on your precious American honor."

With that, Dae Kim hung up the Gertrude, cutting off any reply the American officer might have had planned. And he would have made one; there was no doubt about that. Americans loved to talk, and worthy a foe as the imperialists' military was, they were the worst of all in that regard, with a great deal of ridiculous chest-pounding and carrying on if they had so much as five minutes of free time.

The young captain was not the only man aboard Sinpo able to speak English; several others were present, some known to Kim and some unknown, all able to hear Kim's end of conversations on the underwater telephone. If he betrayed Kim country in any way while speaking over the boat's phone system, it would be the last act of his career. But since he had merely responded to being hailed and told the American what was what, his standing with the Navy was unchanged. If anything, his English-speaking listeners had probably silently cheered him on.

It was hard not to smile; Kim had just mouthed off to a man he had known once, who he had at one time always addressed as "Sir". Had he talked like he had just now a few years ago, he'd have been restricted to the Post for a month.

Lieutenant Fred Lewis, now probably Lieutenant Commander or Commander Fred Lewis, had been a member of Naval ROTC staff at VMI during the time when the young, handsome, fearless star of the Class of 2011, Dae Kim, had attended that famed military college. The two men had talked often, as Kim's high intelligence and promise as a naval officer- in particular, Kim's grasp of mathematics was outstanding- became apparent. Kim had excelled in Lewis' classes, and had jousted verbally with the experienced Surface Warfare Officer many times. The younger man said little about his personal life or family, in keeping with his image of a rather private young man, and he said nothing about his intention of becoming a submarine officer in any navy at all. For all Lewis or anyone else knew, Kim was thinking of becoming anything from a surface warfare officer to a supply officer overseeing a naval base's postal exchange.

It had actually been kind of fun interacting with Lieutenant Lewis, and Kim had understood and sympathized with his teacher's expressed desire to complete his assignment ashore at VMI with the job done as well as possible, and then get back out to sea. It had been four years ago since they had last seen each other, or heard one another's voices. The American officer had been one of the most baffled when the Class of 2011's valedictorian took no officer's commission and simply left upon graduation, saying next to nothing about what he intended to do next or where he meant to go. Kim, personally, thought it was kind of funny. He'd beaten the American cadets at their own game in every way possible, and then simply left. It had confused the hell out of them.

Lewis had probably not recognized his former star pupil's voice, likely did not recall the voice of the young man who had learned so well the lessons Lewis taught on the history of naval warfare, command of a ship, and modern naval tactics. He probably had no idea just how well his former student had remembered all the wisdom he'd tried to impart.

Fred Lewis was far from flawless, though; though a total professional and deeply dedicated to serving his country, Fred Lewis tended to talk too much, and spent too much time swaggering and puffing his chest out, usually metaphorically but sometimes literally. Lewis had a classic American ego and apparently thought he was some kind of seagoing cowboy. Like their old and mostly-forgotten hero John Wayne, Fred Lewis liked to give you an unbroken tough-guy stare and put that stern, no-nonsense voice on until he sounded so much like The Duke it was hilarious. A highly competent naval officer, yes. Hard-headed and stubborn, yes. But stupid? Before, Kim would have said no to that confidently. Right now, heart pounding in his chest and his gut urging him to come about, fire his torpedoes, and dive as deep as he could go before coming back up to strike again, Kim was not so sure.

Was this what it had come to? Master and apprentice, teacher and student, each addressed now as Commander and each in charge of his own vessel, maneuvering in parallel with each other on the open sea? Weapons ready, men ready to deal death and destruction at their command? This sounded like some kind of bad American war movie. Or some TV show. This was not the Americans' famed _Star Wars_. But the resemblance to some dramatic plot was so uncanny Kim wanted to laugh. He had been to America; he had studied in the enemy's midst for a total of five years, and he knew how they did things. How their minds typically worked. Dramatic showdowns like this were what scriptwriters over there lived for, and not a few viewers.

These warships would cause sinkings on both sides if firing started. Kim aimed to send USS _Cortland_ under the waves. He respected, even somewhat admired, his former teacher. But there was no personal attachment there at all. Kim was set on destroying Fred Lewis' warship and, hopefully, sending him under the waves with it, if any fighting began. He had every reason to do so. _Cortland_ was the command vessel for this American battle group, and the largest and most powerful ship the enemy had in this standoff. And since Kim was almost completely certain that had been Fred Lewis on the underwater telephone- he just knew it- he knew that _Cortland_ 's commander was a smart man beneath all that bluff and bluster, and his death along with the sinking of such a powerful warship would be a tremendous victory for Dae Kim's country and just as serious a defeat for the Americans. Intelligent and capable officers were best killed quickly, to better disorganize and demoralize the enemy's forces. It was important to remember, however, Lewis was no Horatio Nelson; losing him would not defeat the U.S. Navy.

But it sure wouldn't do them any good, either.

* * *

 **A/N: This chapter was uploaded on 2-19-2017. Chapter 2 will be up in 7 days at most. That will be the final chapter of this story.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

* * *

They stayed there like that for what seemed like eternity, the American and North Korean ships. Gunner's mates aboard each of the ships kept weapons trained on enemy vessels; captains peered intently through binoculars and tried to guess their opponent's intentions and what was going to happen next. The Korean sailors were wondering what the hell had crawled up the Americans' asses this time; the Americans were wondering why a diesel-electric submarine with two armed nuclear missiles was running on the surface, diesels growling, with no attempt at stealth at all. Men of both navies were waiting for the shooting to start, yet both were held back on orders from superiors. Neither could attack unless they were ordered to, unless the other side did first, so each group of ships and sailors waited tensely for the other guy to start it.

But both sides knew that if there was a fight here, it wouldn't be the end of it. Whoever started this battle, whoever won it, there would be war. The United States and the DPRK would go to war, and if that happened, the Republic of Korea would get into it immediately. Would China intervene? Would Japan? It was hard to say. But the fighting wouldn't end here in the Eastern Sea, what the Americans called the "Sea of Japan", and the men aboard both groups of warships knew that.

The sailors manning the stations that steered the _Sinpo_ called out each minor course alteration they made to keep the submarine within the DPRK's territorial waters. Commander Dae Kim kept silent; the officers and sailors here in the control room were all men he trusted with his life. He had the right to interfere and issue his own orders as captain, and sometimes did- but when it wasn't appropriate, and Kim liked to think he knew when that was, he stood back and left his men alone, let them do their jobs. The tension aboard _Sinpo_ was so thick you could just about reach out and cut it with a knife; sweat dripped down many a sailor and officer's face, and not just from the heat that the boat's somewhat inadequate air conditioning allowed to build up in the tight confines of the boat. Nobody said anything that wasn't in the line of duty; nobody moved or even breathed if it wasn't in the line of duty. Every man on board was waiting for the order to launch torpedoes, dive beneath the waves, kill the diesels and start the electrics, to fight fires, close up hull breaches, repair damaged electrical systems and controls.

If shooting started, running on the surface with diesel engines engaged was the worst place for a submarine to be. Dae Kim trusted completely in the wisdom of his nation's leadership; he trusted absolutely in the orders of the Navy high command and the Glorious Leader. But deep down, he silently cursed the fact that he had been forbidden to dive his boat and shut down the diesel engines. He had to literally wait until he was already being fired on to take _Sinpo_ beneath the waves, and by then, his all-too-vulnerable boat could very well be sinking. Submarines caught on the surface and forced to do battle with surface warships tended not to do very well.

But a citizen of the Democratic People's Republic of Korea had no right to complain about such things. A citizen had no rights at all; only duties.

And if Kim was ordered to keep his boat on the surface and run the diesel engines, then that's precisely what he would do. And if he was killed and his boat sunk because of it, then so be it. Better to die doing his duty as it was ordered than live by disobeying.

"Sir," a sailor down the passageway that led to the deck hatch ladder called out, "signal from the American cruiser. They state we are entering launch codes, and say we must stand down!"

"Tell them we are entering no launch codes," Kim replied. "Tell to come no closer or they will be fired upon."

"They seem damned sure of themselves," Li Choi remarked.

"Americans always are," Dae Kim replied dryly, privately feeling a mix of admiration and contempt. Americans were very damned sure of themselves. They could easily be taken for nothing but a bunch of blundering idiots, but they had blundered into several nations' capitals and to victory in several wars. It was a bad idea to underestimate American blundering.

Li Choi didn't ask if they should dive, though he was doubtless thinking it. Nearly every one of the fifty men on the _Sinpo_ had to be wondering what the hell they were doing on the surface with a war about to break out; but at the same time, they all knew it had been ordered. They would fight on the surface and do their damndest to win, and if they died, they would die together. It was the nature of the submarine service, the reason why submariners of every navy bonded close and knew one another better than brothers.

It was a life of "Where you go, I go," of sink or swim together. Every man on every submarine ever to sail was depending on every other man aboard to keep the submarine running and himself alive. One man shirking his duty at the wrong moment could mean death and catastrophe for every rating. Men of the submarine service, and above all men of the Korean People's Navy, were not known to shirk.

"If they engage," Kim said, "Helmsmen, I want to you bring us about in 30 seconds. Don't worry about the Americans. They'll have their own problems soon enough."

"Aye, sir," one of the sailors answered.

The two sailors manning the controls glanced back at their commander; neither one was older than nineteen. They were frightened, but duty held them riveted to their seats and denying their fear with cool, professional expressions. Kim felt a renewed sense of purpose as commander of this boat, responsible for forty-nine other men, all of them volunteers. Screwing up now would mean the deaths, easily, of every man on the _Sinpo_. These men all had potential, had promise. Their dying now would be a terrible loss. Kim couldn't do that to them. Calculations raced through his head; he tried to estimate how quick he could get his boat under the water, how swiftly he could launch his first round of torpedoes and reload to continue the fight.

How fast could he bring his stern to face the enemy, and fire off tubes Five and Six?

How long would it take to get the diesels shut down and the batteries engaged? How long would his crew need to get the Sinpo running silent, so the enemy could no longer detect them?

How long would it take if enemy torpedoes, launched from the surface ships, found the _Sinpo_ and impacted her hull? How long would the crew live before the shock of the explosion knocked them senseless, would the air ignite when the enemy torpedoes detonated? How long would it take anyone who survived that to drown?

These thoughts and more haunted Kim's mind as he stood in the control room of his nation's most advanced submarine. They were weak, cowardly thoughts, but they would not go. Kim knew the things he was thinking of were all possible; especially for a submarine caught on the surface.

Dae Kim had always loved mathematics, had always seemed to have a knack for it. Calculations raced through his head now, as he tried to anticipate what could happen. Anti-ship missiles; could he dive fast enough before one of them was fired at his surfaced boat? Maybe he could even dive quickly and duck the incoming torpedoes that the enemy would surely fire at him.

But he couldn't know that. Maybe he'd guess the correct way to dive under the enemy's torpedoes, maybe he wouldn't. Maybe his boat's torpedoes would impact USS _Cortland_ amidships, breaking her back in a blast of thunder. Maybe one of the Korean surface ships would meet that kind of fate, too.

The young Korean officer could feel his heart hammering in his chest, and as time drew out like a blade, second-by-second, one minute now seeming like eternity, he began to realize that he feared the possibility of fighting less than he'd thought he might. Whether the warships standing off here today opened fire on one another, whether they didn't, either way would be a relief it meant ending this fucking waiting. The tension of waiting to see what would happen, anticipating what you would do if this or that occurred, was worse than either of the possible outcomes could be.

"Another Morse code signal from the Americans, Commander!" the sailor relaying messages from the lookouts hollered. "They are demanding we stop entering launch codes to our weapons!"

"We are doing no such thing," Kim said tersely. "Send a return signal. Tell them to keep their distance or we will open fire."

The seconds ticked by. One, two, three, four… Kim waited for the American's to change course and come closer, inviting an attack in response. He waited, second by second, for a report, an alarm, that the enemy was firing weapons.

But nothing happened. Somehow, that was worse than something happening, even a war. In a tense, dangerous situation, being held in suspense, forced to wait, was the worst position to be in of all.

The seconds crawled by, one, then another. An intoxicating blend of adrenaline and fear riveted crewmen to their stations and absolutely focused on their tasks. No one moved; no one spoke. It seemed as if something was near, one way or the other. The men of the _Sinpo_ were determined that if they had to go, they would go as heroes.

T'ŭkmu-sangsa (Chief Petty Officer) Yong Park made his way down a passageway and arrived in the control room, a solemn expression on his rough-hewn, leathery face. He was a career submariner and had been in the Navy since 1977. Dae Kim knew that to the fifty-four year old man, he was little more than a boy. Yet the older man treated Commander Dae Kim with the greatest of respect, something the _Sinpo_ 's commanding officer returned.

"There's a problem in the forward torpedo room, sir," Chief Yong said. "The caps on tubes One and Two are failing to open. We believe it's a short in the wiring system, so the control room's signal never got to the caps. A team of electricians are working on the control panel and the wiring in the torpedo room. We should have the problem fixed inside of three minutes."

 _Oh,_ damn _it_.

Kim felt some sort of elevator plummet about twenty stories in his stomach. A war was one shot away from starting, and he could only use half of his forward torpedo tubes. Three minutes to fix the problem? That was a lifetime. The _Sinpo_ did not have that kind of luxury.

But two tubes open was a hell of a lot better than nothing.

Perhaps sensing his commander's apprehension, as stoic as Kim kept his face, Chief Yong added, "We can close the hatch to the torpedo room, remove the torpedoes in the two locked tubes, and try to open the tubes manually if you want us to try."

"You could drown every man in that room," Kim said.

"I will be worth it if we open the tubes, sir, and get some torpedoes launched. I'll make sure it happens if you give the order. I'll be in the torpedo room myself."

That was classic Chief Yong; he did not believe in sending his sailors anywhere that he wasn't willing to go himself. He was tough, as hard as steel. He had a voice that, in full force, sounded like a weapon requisitioned from a ship's ordnance officer. But he also cared greatly about his men, and had gone in harm's way on their behalf more than once. He might bawl you out in front of the CO, he might cancel your shore leave for the next six months and threaten to have you shot, but if you came to him for help, he would always- always- help you however he could.

"Thank you, Chief, but that won't be necessary," Kim said. "Tell the electricians to hurry it up and get those tubes open. I want it done _now_."

"Aye aye, sir," Chief Yong said, nodding. He was a big, broad-shouldered bear of a man, and it was actually pretty amazing to watch him turn and head back out of the control room, wedging himself down the passageway and around a corner to make his way down another. Even more incredible was that if another man was coming the opposite way, Chief Yong always had a way to get them both past each other and could manage it without any delay.

Two tubes. They were in some serious trouble right now if any shooting started.

Those men needed to work damned fast.

Then something happened just seconds later. Sonar, visuals from the scopes, and a shouted command from the sailor relaying the lookout's words all began to tell the same story. USS _Cortland_ was turning her autocannons and missile launchers away, and setting a course taking her away from the Korean People's Navy warships. The other American ships followed _Cortland_ , picking up speed to match that being set by the Ticonderoga-class guided missile cruiser.

" _Cortland_ is disengaging, sir," Li Choi said, sounding almost dazed- like he couldn't quite believe it.

Kim went over to the monitors showing the view from the attack and search scopes. The cameras showed the American warships turning away; instead of the port side of each vessel, they could see the sterns coming into view. _Sinpo_ 's commander held his breath; this couldn't be happening. It _had_ to be a trick.

Then, after thirty seconds had passed by, Kim said in satisfaction, "They've had enough."

The cheer that went up in the control room nearly deafened the twenty-six year old officer. Li Choi shouted in his ear; one of the 19-year-old helmsmen pounded on the other's shoulders while they both yelled incoherently. The shouting spread throughout the boat as the other crewmen realized what the racket had to mean, and pretty soon Chief Yong and some of the petty officers under him started yelling for everyone to shut up and get back to work.

But the petty officers waited a good minute or so before they did that. Kim hadn't ever known them to wait that long before.

Commander Dae Kim allowed himself to smile as relief washed through him. He wanted to jump up and down and yell too, but he couldn't. Once you got to be a full commander it wasn't exactly allowed anymore, and in this navy, it was not much allowed at all. But Kim let himself smile and feel grateful that his ancestors, that the ancestors of every man aboard, had guarded this boat and her crew. There had been no glorious battle. No one had given their lives for the fatherland and the People's Navy today.

But the Americans had been driven off; of that there was no doubt. In his time in America, Kim read a book that contained some collected writings from the Irish revolutionary Michael Collins. "The Big Fellow", he was called, and he had said, "There is a simple test. Those who are left in possession of the battlefield have won."

This stretch of open ocean was the battlefield in this situation. The Korean People's Navy was being left in possession of it.

 _Victory_.

Dae Kim had never known a more beautiful word.

 **XX**

KPS _Sinpo_

22 September, 2015

19:45 Hours

The _Sinpo_ 's captain's cabin was not much more than a closet by the standards found ashore. It was six feet by four, and did not have sufficient space for the fold-down bed and the desk and chair to both be deployed at the same time. There was a tiny press in which Kim kept his uniforms and a small drawer of personal items, including his grandfather's Hero of Labour medal. It was supposed to bring him good luck if he kept the medal aboard. It had sure done well in that regard today.

The cramped space of the cabin was not much to work with, but as privileged as he had been growing up, Kim knew how to make do with less. He didn't need much. And given the scarcity of space aboard a submarine, that Kim had a cabin to himself at all- whether it was the size of a closet or not- was a priceless luxury.

After relaying the end of the standoff to his father by underwater telephone, Kim had overseen the control room for several hours. He arrived at the galley at 18:00 to get his supper, which he ate in the tiny mess hall alongside a group of his boat's other officers. By now, Kim had just completed filling out the ship's log for today. Weather, course taken at sea, and the major events of the day were all meticulously detailed. A boat's- or ship's- log was dull to most, uninteresting. But to a mariner it was fascinating, rich with information.

As he wrote his version of today's events, sticking just to the facts, Kim left out certain things. He didn't mention his suspicion that he knew who the commander of the USS _Cortland_ was, though he did identify the cruiser and note her designation as CG-74. He noted the number of destroyers she had been accompanied by, and their classifications and hull numbers. The report was meticulous, sparing no details. Dae Kim was absolutely professional, the best kind of naval officer. Paperwork like this seemed boring, but it was an important part of the job. His superiors needed accurate reports, to better serve leader and nation.

And to document the doing of heroic deeds. The things Dae Kim had done today- what his crew had done today- would probably give the government a fantastic chance to turn _Sinpo_ and her crew into national heroes, the men who drove off the Americans. It was easy to see it as a headline.

 _As long as the Ministry of State Security doesn't come crawling up my ass about anything_ , Kim thought, _I'll be fine with whatever happens after this_. He started to grumble something unflattering about the government's force of detectives and agents, but brought himself up short. He was not one to say things like that- even think them. He was a loyal son of the Fatherland.

That derisive thought about the MSS, though… that was Dae Kim's American self talking. As loyal as he had stayed to his country during his five years in America, as much as he had remained true to his vow to study the philosophy, language, methods, and tactics of the enemy and to never betray Korea, Kim had learned a thing or two that neither he nor anybody else had planned. He genuinely had made friends at the Virginia Military Institute. He hadn't been the biggest talker at first, but the highly-disciplined and active life he lived earned Kim respect from many of his classmates, and some of them specifically sought him out to find out better how to emulate his behavior, saying they admired it. Gradually, as he had at Fishburne, Kim had allowed himself to mix with the Americans and make friends.

He provided advice to those who came to him seeking it, tutored his less talented peers in English (very ironically), history, and mathematics. Kim went out with his cadet buddies now and then, played occasional drinking games, slept with some very attractive American women his friends had introduced him to. Kim had played soccer, boxed, led units of ever-increasing size through countless parades that VMI held almost every Friday. He had gone through the Ratline like anyone else, had bonded with his brother Rats no matter where they came from, and had gradually loosened up and learned to laugh and joke and play pranks with the guys and girls in his class. His rather stern and solemn nature never quite went away- it couldn't, not with duty ruling Kim's life the way it did- but he did learn to "let his hair down" sometimes, as the Americans said it.

He watched the Americans' movies, read Pat Conroy and Stephen King, the memoirs of a dozen generals and admirals from America, and listened to American music. If there was one thing Kim admired about Americans, it was their "Stonewall" Jackson and his philosophy, the words inscribed on the Jackson Arch, entrance to one of the barracks at VMI: "You may be whatever you resolve to be."

The Democratic People's Republic of Korea did not allow such a way of life. Kim knew the DPRK's system was better, knew his nation was the greatest on Earth, but sometimes he wondered why the government was so insistent on controlling so many aspects of life. It seemed a little much, was all.

But that was a line of though bordering on treason, if not crossing the line; the twenty-six year old officer knew he had better keep it to himself. Even his own father would not understand if he started talking like that, or if he said anything about the full extent of his adventures in America at Fishburne and at the Institute. The Ministry of State Security did not quite have the power to send anyone to directly keep an eye on him in America; Dae Kim was merely warned that if he did not return to Korea when it was expected, if he failed to be in contact with his father and the government on a regular basis, there would be serious repercussions. He'd kept his end of the deal and come back when it was anticipated, and stayed in touch while he was way. But the double life that Dae Kim had led in America hadn't quite completely ended once he had returned to the Democratic People's Republic of Korea.

Part of him still thought like an American now. He had a secret part of himself that had enjoyed having such freedom of speech and expression as he'd known in America, and he had marveled at how Americans could say practically anything they wanted and the police did not swoop down and arrest them. It was interesting. Kim kept this aspect of himself secret, suppressed it much of the time. But he couldn't seem to quite get rid of it, and wasn't entirely sure he wanted to.

The Americans were the enemy, though- there was no doubt about that. How could there be? Dae Kim was a Korean. The Americans had been the enemy of that ancient country since before he'd been born. Kim could allow himself to think like them a little bit, to admire and even like them even as he held them in contempt, but if the day ever came that he went to war with the Americans, he would do so with all his might. No other path could even be envisioned.

After closing up the log and putting it away, Dae Kim folded up the writing desk. With the bed and desk both stood up against opposite bulkheads, he had a decent amount of floor space. Enough for Kim to do what he did every morning and every evening, first thing before he got up and last thing before he got to bed. He had been getting up between 04:00 and 06:00 for years, and he began and ended the day by performing a rigorous series of calisthenics.

So Kim unzipped his one-piece work uniform, set it off to one side, and hit the deck for a hundred pushups. He was still on the leaner side, would never have the ridiculous look of someone like Arnold Schwarzenegger, but Dae Kim was in almost perfect physical condition, weighing in at 250 pounds. He could recite mathematical formulas, write poetry, held a black belt in karate, and beat anybody who challenged him at a physical fitness test. He allowed himself to feel a little smug about it sometimes, mostly because he knew very few Americans were anywhere near as wholly dedicated to duty, honor, and fatherland as he was.

After working up a light sweat and thoroughly exercising all of the major muscles, Kim folded down his bed and pulled the modest blanket over him, reaching up to turn out the light. He was glad he'd been able to have laser surgery performed on his eyes while he had been at Fishburne; for years now, he had never needed to worry about putting his glasses away when the day was over.

He had beaten the Americans today, even if no ships had been sunk. He had stared them down, and they had blinked. And the one he had forced to blink most of all, the enemy he relished driving off more than any other, was the man he knew was in command of the USS _Cortland_ , Fred Lewis.

Master and pupil had met on the high seas today, and the pupil showed he had learned his lessons well. Dae Kim had made his father and all their ancestors proud by standing up to the Americans like that, because whatever virtues they might have had, the Americans had a strong tendency to become bullies. They were always in a rush and were always pushing for things, seemingly having no patience at all. Kim had forced them to turn from their effort to bully Korea today, accusing him personally and his Navy and nation of a falsehood- of arming and entering launch codes for weapons aboard the _Sinpo_ when neither of those things was being done. It was the ugly side of the Americans at work; the moral sloppiness among so many of them that Kim found so appalling.

Dae Kim went to sleep content, reminding himself to continue reading the translated Confucius book he had brought aboard with him tomorrow. He gave a final silent thanks to his ancestors for getting him and his crew through today.

It was, as those pushy Americans would have said, not bad for one day's work. But Kim preferred Confucious, who had said, "To rank the effort above the prize may be called love." The black-haired twenty-six year old thought of that phrase often, and it was easy to imagine why he did.

He loved his job, his people, and his nation. That was why.

 **XX**

USS _Cortland_

22 September, 2015

20:15

Commander Fred Lewis, U.S. Navy, the naval equivalent of a lieutenant colonel, was working on the last of a letter to his wife when his XO, a youthful-looking officer called Lieutenant Commander Stephen Owens, appeared in the open hatch to the captain's cabin. Owens was thirty to Lewis' thirty-six, but the executive officer of USS _Cortland_ looked for all the world like he had escaped from his alma mater, Annapolis, about five minutes ago. Sailors aboard Cortland called her XO "the Electric Spark", or "the Spark", because of his apparently-limitless energy, and getting forty-six things done before noon was sometimes known as "Pulling an Owens".

By contrast, _Cortland_ 's commander was almost moving at half speed; Lewis did not have Owens' mix of youthful exuberance and high professional competence; he mostly had competence. But thinking Lewis was slow or dull-witted was a poor judgment to make. The Norwich University graduate was a master of his craft, hardened by many years and two previous commands at sea. He had squared off with pirates and gangsters, met officers of twelve foreign navies, and now had stared down the North Koreans.

"Hell of a day, huh, Chief?" Owens asked with one of his kid-like grins plastered on his surfer-tanned face.

"If Master Chief Reynolds hears you calling me that," Lewis said without looking up, "he'll probably want a word with you."

"Think so, sir?"

"Call it an educated guess."

Owens laughed, then ran a hand through his sandy-blond hair. He had a couple of reprimands in his file for irreverence of manner, inappropriate behavior or lack of discipline- but he had many more awards and letters of commendation, many of which specifically referred to things like "Outstanding performance of duty" and "Supreme coolness under intense pressure." Hailing from Virginia Beach, Owens still looked and acted like some goofy surfer kid even as a lieutenant commander, but he was a damn good XO all the same.

"Was there something you wanted to talk to me about, Owens, or did you just want to bug me?"

Lewis was almost a total opposite to Owens; he was usually square-jawed and serious, and had been called "The Navy's Patton" by some bonehead reporter after a bunch of press had interviewed the _Cortland_ 's appointed new commanding officer at Pearl Harbor last year. Lewis hated the nickname, but some of his sailors found out about it and called him that when he wasn't around.

But Lewis could kid around if he wanted to; he was doing it right now. But his voice was his normal businesslike, somewhat gruff tone- only from the slight upturn at the corners of his mouth could you tell he was having a little fun.

"Oh, nothing much, sir," Owens answered. "Well, I mean-" He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck, and Lewis set down his pen, sat up, and looked over at the lieutenant commander. "Speak freely, Owens."

"Commander, I wanted to thank you."

"What for?"

"For getting us out of this. What happened today. It could've gone to hell and you made sure it didn't happen."

"It was everybody around me on the bridge that got things done," Lewis replied. "I just stood around and looked good."

"Well, a lot of the guys felt better for you being there," Owens said. "That goes for me, too. I don't know if those signals were real or not, but if it was, I guess the North Koreans got the message that you meant business and they backed down."

"They're probably going home telling their people they won, you know."

"Probably, sir," Owens agreed. "But the _Cortland_ weighs in at 9,600 tons and the Sinpo weighs 2,300. The three Koni-class frigates weigh 1,900 tons. It's pretty easy to add up who would've come out on top if somebody'd started shooting. Me and a lot of the other guys wanted to thank you for putting some fear in the bastards. Maybe it really set in that you weren't messing around when you got on the phone with their skipper."

"Maybe."

"So… thank you, sir." Owens paused again. "I was thinking of getting out next year, but after today… I think I'm staying Navy. I've learned a lot serving under you, sir. I think I can speak for the whole crew when I say I'm glad I've got such a good CO."

Lewis privately thought this was all a lot of nonsense, but he could see his XO meant it, so he just nodded and said, "Well, thank you, Owens, and you're welcome. I'm proud to have a good crew and a good XO. I think that's a good idea for you to stay with the Navy a while longer; they'll be glad to have you."

"Thank you, sir." Owens paused, then went on, "Hell of a thing that flippin' sub skipper could speak English so well, huh, sir?"

"He might've studied abroad, Owens," Lewis responded. "There's been stories about elite North Korean families, namely the Kims, sending their sons overseas to study at expensive prep schools and prestigious colleges. There's been a few Iranian students who've graduated from VMI and those are just the ones we know about."

"Think our NK sub commander's that type, sir? I mean, not VMI necessarily, but he went to college outside of North Korea, so, that's where he learned that?"

"He spoke perfect English, too," Lewis said thoughtfully. "They've got English teachers in North Korea at the universities and in the KPA, but this guy? I'm not so sure he just took some English class at an NK university. Yeah, I'm just guessing here but he's probably got a foreign education in his file somewhere. And nobody but the kids of the big shots get to do that. His dad's probably a high-ranked minister, or an admiral or a general, something like that."

"You sure put the scare on him today, sir, whoever he was. He disarmed quick after you got serious with him. It was pretty tense for a few minutes, but, hell, the whole thing was over pretty quick."

"I'm glad we didn't have to blow the sons of bitches away," Lewis admitted. "Saves me a hell of a lot of paperwork."

"Thank God for that, sir," Owens grinned.

"Amen, Lieutenant Commander. Was there anything else?"

"No, sir."

"Get back to the bridge; you have the conn. If anything happens that you think you should wake me for, wake me. I don't care what it is. But use your judgment, Owens. I don't want to get woken up because somebody saw a lobster."

"Aye, sir," Owens said. "Thanks again. I'll keep us on course. Don't worry about anything."

"Carry on, Lieutenant Commander."

"Aye aye, sir."

With that, Owens turned and headed out into the passageway, off to return to the bridge.

Lewis shook his head. Owens could switch between dead serious and carefree remarkably quick. He was a good guy to have as your second in command, overall.

Today had been a hell of a day. Lewis was damned happy that there hadn't been any shooting. Errol Coyne, the Secretary of Defense, had been on the spot about not wanting to get neck-deep in World War III. Nobody with a damn brain in their heads was in any hurry to get into that. North Korea might have been a nation with a lot of aging, obsolescent hardware in its arsenal, but it was a massive arsenal. Over 9 million military personnel, including active, reserves, and militia of all types and branches. They had the largest, most densely-packed air defense artillery network in the world. That was a hell of a lot of soldiers and weapons, even if most of their toys weren't state of the art, and a diesel-electric sub mounting sub-launched ballistic missiles definitely made their navy a bigger threat. If a war had started out in the Sea of Japan today, it would've meant the deaths of hundreds of thousands as the two Koreas slammed into each other, and the United States would be right there in the middle of it too. China would probably have found some way to get involved, though whether or not it would've been any different from last time was hard to say.

It was better for everyone involved that nothing had happened. Lewis would have done his utmost to lay waste to the North Korean ships his battle group was facing off with, had the order to do so come or had the North Koreans fired first. But it didn't, and they didn't, and everyone was going home alive. That was fine with Fred Lewis.

The President had heard all about what had gone down in the Sea of Japan today- and what hadn't. Lives had been saved by a fight averted, although the public tended to be much more fascinated with a battle won. Errol Coyne had debriefed the President himself, and Fred Lewis' role in things, and that of the crew of USS _Cortland_ as a focal point of the standoff, was very much part of that debrief. Lewis could really have cared less, but his good work today and the high-ranked people who knew about it sure wouldn't do any harm to his aspirations of getting stars on his collar before he retired.

 **XX**

Closing up his captain's log after making a few more notes, Lewis put the book away in his desk and got up, heading over to a locker where he kept the limited number of personal items he had brought aboard. One of them were three yearbooks from VMI, each entitled _The Bomb_. 2010, 2011, 2012. At the end of that three year shore tour, Lewis had been promoted from lieutenant (O-3) to lieutenant commander (O-4) and given his first command, Arleigh-Burke-class guided missile destroyer USS _John Paul Jones_ (DDG-53).

But while he had been ashore, working as a teacher and member of Naval ROTC staff, Lieutenant Fred Lewis had taught classes, assisted with administrative and logistical work and planning, and despite an outwardly gruff, hard-shelled nature had earned the respect of the cadets he taught. He'd even been asked to pin bars on some of their shoulders as they took commissions as U.S. Navy officers or U.S. Marine officers.

Lewis prided himself on a strong, vivid memory; he could recall so many details about so many things from his experiences over what was already a long career despite being far from over. Cadets who had been Rats when he began his time teaching on Naval ROTC staff at VMI were getting ready to start their final year when he left. Lewis had interacted with many dozens of Naval ROTC cadets, and could recall both some of the greatest triumphs and greatest failures he witnessed among cadets in that department. There were some stunningly talented and brilliant young men coming from the United States and abroad alike to the Institute, and it humbled Lewis to know that such promising young men and women were relying on him, and others like him, to give them a quality education and prepare them for years of service as officers.

The Navy officer could proudly recall some of the greatest students he'd known at the Institute, and had signatures from many of them in the three editions of _The Bomb_ he'd been given. He hadn't gone around asking the students to sign the yearbooks the Institute had issued to him; they'd insisted on signing the books themselves.

One of those students had been a cadet who was in his second-classman year at the Institute when Lewis had arrived in Lexington, Virginia, and had graduated a year later. He had been a quiet, respectful, solemn-faced young man, whose GPA and mathematics skills suggested someone near to the point of genius. A skilled center forward on the VMI soccer team, who probably could have gone professional if he had chosen to; a Navy ROTC cadet who could easily have commissioned into the American or South Korean navies if he had wanted to. It had baffled his classmates and his instructors both when he hadn't taken a commission at all. He said very little about himself or his personal life, but made his share of friends, and would warm up once you got to know him.

The reason this young Korean was on Lewis' mind tonight was that the U.S. Navy officer had the oddest feeling that he recognized the voice he'd heard speaking to him from that North Korean submarine today. Despite having not heard it for years, and despite the cold, rigid way the younger man had spoken, the voice indeed sounded familiar. Lewis had this feeling…

The commanding officer of USS _Cortland_ took out _The Bomb_ 2011 and looked through it, reliving some fond memories of his days ashore at that prestigious military college. He recognized former colleagues and cadets he had taught, more than a few of which brought back even more memories. In the latter half of the yearbook, among the photos of the VMI soccer team of the 2010-2011 year, Lewis found what he was looking for- or rather, who he was looking for. In a group photo of the team's forwards, there was a signature with the words scrawled: " _Molon labe_! _Chin Sung-tae_."

It had been a favorite rallying cry of the fearless center forward, #13. It was Greek, meaning "Come and take them"- the defiant reply King Leonidas had sent back when the Persians demanded he and his Spartan warriors give up their weapons at Thermopylae. It was a classic statement of total defiance, of "Come get it", "Bring it on."

Chin Sung-tae played like his life depended on it, and that defiant statement fit him and his personality perfectly. So modest, so quiet, so brilliant and devoted. Everyone had been sure First Captain Chin embark on a brilliant military career when he graduated. It had baffled cadets and faculty alike when he left VMI with no stated goals and no naval commission upon graduation. And in the years since his departure from the Institute, the steel-nerved, clever, unassuming young Korean had dropped off the grid, never to be heard from again.

That was all anyone knew. Until today, that was what Lewis himself had believed, having no reason to think otherwise. It was where all the signs pointed. Not one of Chin Sung-tae's friends or classmates had heard anything from him since graduation. He had left no contact information with the Institute, and contacting his previous school in America, the Fishburne Military School, likewise yielded nothing; his old contact information was a dead-end. For all anyone knew, this guy was gone, and that was that. Lewis had been sure the mystery might never be solved. Now, though…

That voice on the gertrude had sounded familiar, the more Lewis thought about it. Chin's background had been plausible enough- no one had ever doubted him- but it had also been vague. It could easily have been that Chin was simply very private. It could also have been, now that Lewis thought about it, that Chin wasn't really from Seoul, South Korea. What if he had hidden secrets about himself and his life, even his real political and at least some of his moral beliefs, all the while studying the enemy he would one day be most trained and poised to fight?

Lewis was not an overtly sentimental or emotional man, but he had enjoyed being a teacher in Navy ROTC at VMI. He remembered many of his students proudly and fondly. Seeing Chin Sung-tae, one of the smartest, most driven, and most promising young men he had ever seen- and that included Lewis' own college days and early years as a Navy officer- just walk out of VMI with no stated plan of where he was going to go in the world or what he was going to do had surprised and disappointed Lewis greatly. He'd been one of those most convinced that Chin would accept a commission and begin a career as a naval officer.

 _Was that you out there today_? Lewis wondered, looking at the happy, grinning, handsome young man in soccer uniform in the photograph, muscular arms around the American boys to his left and right. _Maybe you_ did _have a plan. Maybe you did become a navy officer, after all_.

The commander of that NK sub had nerve, brains, and even wit. He came off as simply too educated, too given to innovative, independent thinking, for the typical North Korean serviceman. The KPN's officer corps was well-versed in telling Americans to go to hell, but in the clever, way _Sinpo_ 's CO had gone for it- speaking so articulately in English, questioning the very real American way of automatically seeing themselves as the good guys- suggested he was different. That he had done more with his life than just attend North Korean schools and think only in the North Korean way.

The dark-haired U.S. Navy officer stared intently at the grinning Korean in the photograph, as if expecting a reply to the silent questions running through his mind. He had no basis for any of this. It was possible Chin Sung-tae was really the Korean's name, and that he really was from Seoul. He could have headed back there and might be running a bank by now. But all of the pieces to the puzzle, pure speculation though it really was, seemed to fit. Chin Sung-tae was quite possibly an assumed name. And he was, quite possibly, a North Korean, a son of some member of the NK elite. His reasons for coming to study in America could only be guessed at, even more unknown than his true name and nationality. But Chin was driven powerfully to become the best at everything he did, and it was easy to see someone like him commanding a submarine, the most advanced ever to sail under the North Korean flag, a mere four years after graduation from VMI.

If that had been him on the phone today- and that _had_ sounded like Chin's voice- Fred Lewis was even more impressed with the ballsy, mysterious NK sub skipper. He'd commanded a cruiser standing off with a submarine commanded by one of his best and brightest former students, if his guessing was correct. Lewis had a feeling he was right about this. The brilliant but somewhat reclusive Chin Sung-tae had vanished like smoke in the wind when he had graduated in 2011… but Fred Lewis was now willing to bet his former student had vanished in the direction of North Korea.

This was a hunch he was going to need to talk to someone about. In Navy intelligence, maybe the NSA or even NCIS, the last of whom he'd had the somewhat dubious pleasure of video-conferencing with during the showdown today. If Chin Sung-tae was a fake name and he hailed from North Korea, it was probably better if this possibility was raised and the intel pukes had a chance to do some searching. Maybe it could be determined if Lewis' theory was true or not. If it was, though, the Navy would be much better off for knowing someone so damned smart and dedicated was serving in the North Korean navy now.

 _Molon labe_!

USS _Cortland_ 's commander looked at the scrawled black letters again, shaking his head. His former student probably didn't even remember scribbling that in his Navy ROTC instructor's complimentary yearbook in the chaotic last days before he graduated. Maybe he was out there, still dead serious about giving it his all in everything he did, displaying that same selfless work ethic that had driven him to the top of his class at the Institute. Maybe he really had signed up with the enemy, but then, if he had, he'd been meaning to all along. The brilliant son of a bitch had fearlessly defied a 9,600 ton cruiser today, a cruiser that was a long way from alone. It fit Lewis' impression of Chin. That kid took crap from no man and was scared of nothing. He'd gotten his crew through whatever the hell had happened today and was sailing for home, no doubt to be welcomed back as a hero. The thought made Commander Lewis smile briefly. He was kind of proud of the kid himself. He really had been a damned good cadet.

"Live to fight another day, Captain Chin," Commander Fred Lewis said, sketching out a salute to the grinning young man in the soccer team photograph.

Then he closed the yearbook, returned it to the locker, and headed for his rack. Regardless of how the possibility that was his former student out there today made him feel, he had a ship to command, and several others that he was responsible for. Today was over; World War III had been averted. Both sides could claim victory, to about the same degree.

But tomorrow would likely hold its own share of hard work, difficult decisions, and new trials and tests for someone like him, entrusted with the responsibility of command. "The only easy day was yesterday," as the saying went.

Lewis grunted as he lay down on the rack; yep, he sure wasn't getting any younger. Oh, well. He'd just get tougher in the ways he could to compensate, and crankier just for the hell of it. It made him smile a little again. Just another day in the Navy.

* * *

 **A/N: I wrote this 34-page story in 2 days and then waited to upload it for several months. No particular reason, but I did some editing in the meantime.**

 **I got this story idea at some point when I was thinking randomly about Season 13: Episode 1 "Stop The Bleeding". Americans are very used to seeing North Korea's government as always being the ones who started it, as the "bad guys", and to be fair, the DPRK often does do just that. They're well-known for engaging in saber-rattling every so often; it's frequently how they get in the news. But in this NCIS episode, Daniel Budd took advantage of North Korea's aggressive and militant reputation to fool the United States. Hacking into American defense alert systems, he created a false signal appearing to originate from the two nuclear missiles carried aboard a North Korean Sinpo-class submarine, which is the DPRK's first diesel-electric boat able to carry a pair of some form of submarine-launched missiles believed to be able to mount nuclear warheads. So while the U.S. Navy was preparing to engage the North Koreans over the issue, the North Koreans- for once, at least- were telling the truth when they said they had not armed the warheads or entered launch codes on the submarine.**

 **So, it got me thinking. North Korea, at least for one time, is actually being falsely accused of threatening violence and is truthfully denying taking hostile action with their Sinpo-class submarine. I started to wonder what it was like for the men aboard the sub at the time, who had to have been told or already been somewhat aware of the crisis. I got an idea for a character and wrote out a story from there.**

 **I fictionalized aspects of the Sinpo-class sub; most of what is known about it is largely speculation anyway, as North Korea has not been very forthcoming about their newest class of submarine. The Sinpo's figures are inflated somewhat; for example, it has a displacement of some 2,000 tons rather than 2,300, which is that of a Russian Kilo-class diesel-electric submarine. I thought about fictionalizing the Sinpo-class submarine even further and giving it a nuclear reactor instead of a diesel-electric system, but ultimately stuck with the boat's real-life power plant.**

 **Several names here, or parts of names, of North Korean characters are drawn from people like the current head of the Korean People's Navy and several characters from the 2005 Xbox video game** _ **Mercenaries: Playground of Destruction**_ **. Prime example of this is Commander Dae Kim himself; in** _ **Mercenaries**_ **, Dae Kim is the 2 of Spades, and is somewhat ironically a female Korean People's Army commando rather than a male naval officer. Kim can be a male or female Korean given name, as far as I am aware. I did the best I could with the names, and at least mentioning some real-life details about the KPN and their rank system. For Dae Kim to have reached the rank of Commander at age 26 and be put in command of a submarine after some 2 years in the KPN would be very hard, but not entirely impossible. As the son of the KPN's current ranking officer, he is a member of North Korea's military elite, and between his exceptional intelligence, natural aptitude, and intense personal dedication and discipline, and the reputation and influence of his father, Kim could plausibly enough reach senior officer rank at that early age.**

 **Korean last names are placed before first names, so every Korean character's 'first name' is actually their family name. Their given name is the second one.**

 **Some members of the North Korean elite- namely the Kim family, the DPRK's royal family- really have been known to go far outside North Korea to attend elite boarding schools in Europe. It is less known and less likely that a son of a North Korean admiral would attend an American military college, but since Dae Kim probably had considerable support from his father in attempting to do it, and North Korea had the admiral as an implicit "hostage" of Kim ever liked America too much and decided to stay permanently, I see the idea as at least possible. Kim remains loyal to the DPRK even after five years in America, but he has been affected by it in ways he didn't expect, and it has colored his thinking somewhat and made him more well-rounded and insightful than he might have ever been before. North Koreans are not taught to be as thoughtful and independently-thinking as Dae Kim can be. I don't think I made Kim a cartoon by making him so intelligent, driven and talented. Some people really can do all the things he did while attending school in America.**

 **I didn't write this story to be praising the North Korean government or military, but I wanted to just show what it was like for the crew and commander of an NK sub falsely accused by the US of arming their nuclear warheads, being at the center of an international incident. Armed forces members in North Korea are not going to see themselves as evil. Some of them, guaranteed, are no more than Punch Clock Villains, or otherwise are patriots just like an American serviceman, and are doing their jobs as best they can out of a sincere love of country.**

 **All the presentation and details of the confrontation at sea are made up. The episode just talks about the submarine doing stuff, and how the Pacific Fleet has at least one ship ready and able to engage, and logic says it would not be alone. I thought Commander Fred Lewis was CO of a ship called the** _ **Portland**_ **, but at the end of the crisis when the sub "disarms", Lewis says, "** _ **Cortland**_ **out," or "** _ **Courtland**_ **out". Since there has never been a U.S. Navy ship called USS** _ **Courtland**_ **, but there** _ **was**_ **one many years ago named after Cortland County, New York, I made up a fictional Ticonderoga-class guided missile cruiser and called it the USS** _ **Cortland**_ **, CG-74. Lastly, I have no idea how the hell the North Koreans designate their warships, so I named the namesake boat of the Sinpo submarine class Korean People's Ship** _ **Sinpo**_ **.**

 **This chapter was uploaded on 2-25-2017.**


End file.
